Welcome To The Circus
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Lewis Zimmerman inquires after Seven's intentions toward his "son". Post-Endgame, established D/7.


Welcome To The Circus

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Star Trek: Voyager_

Copyright: Paramount

"Rumor has it the two of you are _involved,_" said Lewis Zimmerman over the comm screen, raising his thin gray eyebrows as high as they could go. "Is this true?"

Seven and the Doctor shared a glance, partly relieved that the reason for Zimmerman's comm was nothing worse, and partly quite annoyed at his presumption. The Doctor shot a glare at the screen identical to his creator's.

"Who told you?" he snapped.

"Reg, of course." Zimmerman's customary irritation was tinged with shock. "So it _is_ true. How in Zephram Cochrane's name did this happen? You're not even programmed for … for … "

"Commander Torres provided the necessary subroutines," Seven replied coolly. "They are highly satisfactory."

Zimmerman's eyes bulged. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then shook his head, as if the concept of his EMH Mark One engaging in romantic activities were too bizarre to contemplate.

"Really, Dr. Z, there's no need to look so horrified," said the Doctor, disguising real hurt with a dramatic sigh. "Is a simple 'congratulations' too much to ask?"

"Congratulations," said Haley, peering over Zimmerman' shoulder with a warm smile at the couple. The Doctor smiled back and Seven nodded, proudly covering his hand with her cybernetic one.

"Wait your turn, Haley," Zimmerman admonished his assistant, although (as Seven could not help but notice) even his abrasive manner became gentle towards her.

"And as for you, young lady – Seven of Eight, was it?"

"Seven of Nine," she corrected.

"I think you and I should have a talk in private."

"Regarding?"

Zimmerman ignored her question and gestured sideways with his head. "Mark One, out of the room."

"Of all the – " It was the Doctor's turn to sputter.

"Please."

This unexpected courtesy from Zimmerman made him rise up from the sofa in stunned silence, glance between Seven and the comm screen on the table, and cross the room toward the door.

As soon as the door closed, leaving Seven and Zimmerman in privacy (except perhaps for Haley, whose discretion could be relied upon), Seven met the old man's eyes with her own most formidable Borg gaze. She did not know very much about him, but enough to leave her singularly unimpressed. This rude intrusion upon the Doctor's personal life was only his latest error in her eyes.

"Explain," she ordered.

Zimmerman settled back in his chair, scrutinizing her, as an exobiologist would study a particularly strange and ugly specimen. She had to resist the urge to turn her ocular implant away from the screen.

"So you're the Borg woman."

"I _was_ Borg," she corrected stiffly. "I am an individual now."

"Weren't you involved with that ex-Maquis of a First Officer?"

"My relationship with Commander Chakotay ended shortly after _Voyager_'s arrival. We were … incompatible."

Her cheeks flamed at the memory, more humiliating than painful. Their habits, their beliefs, their values, were simply too different to agree; she should have known that when he invited her to Dorvan. For a person raised on starships and Borg cubes all her life, that hot, humid, mosquito-infested jungle had been simply too much. A technologically advanced apartment in a clean, orderly city was much more to her taste – and also the Doctor's.

"Frankly," said Zimmerman, "I find it hard to believe that an attractive woman like you would choose an EMH Mark One over a man like Chakotay. I've seen him on the news, you know. I may be old, but I'm not living under a rock. And let me tell you, Seven of Eight, I don't think much of anyone using my … creation … as a consolation prize."

Seven's first impulse was to jump to her feet and let this insufferable man know how wrong he was, using language worthy of B'Elanna Torres herself. She did not approve of emotional outbursts, but there were limits to her self-control, especially when it was the Doctor being insulted. He had no right to judge them both like this, regardless of his connection to the Doctor –

She opened her mouth, then closed it, her angry words unspoken.

_My … creation._

Zimmerman was uncertain about what to call the Doctor. It was a minor detail, one she would have once dismissed as irrelevant, but if there was anything five years of individuality had taught her, it was to pay attention to minor details. That pause was a pause she had often made herself when referring to Icheb: "son" and "brother" were inaccurate, and yet "student", "protegé" and even "friend" could not begin to express the bond between them.

Zimmerman would not care which word he used if he did not care for the Doctor.

She could easily forgive his rudeness now.

"Your concern is not necessary," she said quietly. "Ever since I was severed from the Collective, the Doctor has done everything in his power to assist me. He saved my life and preserved my sanity; he supported me at times when no one else would, and I have done the same for him. I have loved him since before I knew what love is, and he feels the same for me. I can assure you, Dr. Zimmerman, that the Doctor is not a consolation prize for me. On the contrary – his presence in my life is the greatest gift I have ever received. I am most grateful to you for his existence."

Looking up from her clasped hands and into Zimmerman's face, she could see clearly for the first time how similar they were. It was the lack of that sarcastic quirk of his lips, and the gentleness in his hazel eyes that she had seen her Doctor wear so often.

"Well, well, well," he said, smiling, with a catch in his voice he disguised as a small cough. "When I told Starfleet the EMH model would save lives, this is certainly not what I had in mind. So you actually like him?"

"I do."

"And, every rule of nature and science to the contrary, my hologram likes you?"

"He does."

Zimmerman folded his arms and smiled radiantly, just as the Doctor did when feeling exceptionally pleased with himself.

"So, tell him to stop listening at the door and get back in here."

Seven stood up to comply. The Doctor, who really had been standing by the door, folded her into his arms as soon as he saw her.

"I heard everything," he whispered in her ear.

No need to ask if she had meant them; no need to tell her he loved her too. Erudite as they both were, their most important messages were often without words.

"My mentor taught me that eavesdropping is rude," she teased.

"There are exceptions to every rule, my dear."

"Dr. Zimmerman wishes to speak with you."

He made a face, let go of her reluctantly, and moved past her to take his place on the sofa. Sitting down next to him, she saw his frown brighten into a look of surprise at Zimmerman's unusually pleasant attitude.

"You're one lucky photonic bastard, aren't you?" he asked, still smiling.

"Is this your way of giving me your blessing?"

"Don't tell anyone," the old man replied, leaning forward in his chair with a conspiratorial wink. "Or I'll lose my reputation as Jupiter's most notorious curmudgeon. But … well done, Doctor."

It was the first time the engineer had called his creation anything but "you" or "Mark One", and all three of them (four, including Haley) understood what that meant. For a moment, the Doctor nearly glowed with quiet pride and joy.

Of course Zimmerman, being Zimmerman, could not help reverting to his usual caustic self: "Where the hell did you pick up such great taste in women? I know _I_ didn't program it."

"I should have known." The Doctor laughed and shook his head, glancing one more between his creator and his lover. "You've got him wrapped around your little finger just like you've got me, haven't you, Seven?"

"Since your personality is based on his, I do find his reactions easy to predict."

"Are you calling me predictable?" both men chorused – and laughed heartily at each other's identical voices. Seven joined in their amusement with a tiny smile of her own.

"Lewis?" A small hand tugged at the sleeve of Zimmerman's cardigan, making him look up from his chair. "May I say something?"

"Oh yes, of course. Go ahead," vacating the chair with an old-fashioned, flourishing bow. Haley settled herself in front of the screen, smoothed her hair, and showed them what Seven had come to recognize as the Zimmerman grin. On Lewis and the Doctor, it sometimes looked a little silly, but Haley's delicate features made it beautiful.

"I'm so happy for you both," she said. "Hello, Seven. I'm Lewis' Holographic Laboratory Assistant, HLA for short, but my friends call me Haley. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Seven managed.

"I'm glad you two are finally together."

"Clarify."

Haley's blue eyes twinkled with affectionate amusement. "The first time the Doctor came to the station three years ago – he saved Lewis' life remember? – whenever he got tired of arguing with Lewis about the cure, he'd come and talk about _Voyager_ to Mr. Barclay and me. He mentioned you so often, Seven, I almost feel as if I know you already."

"I must have bored you silly," added the Doctor, half proud, half embarrassed, putting an arm around Seven's shoulders to draw her closer.

"Only a little," Haley teased. "It was mostly very sweet. If this is what it's like to fall in love, I wouldn't mind trying it myself."

"_Don't even think about it!"_ thundered Zimmerman's voice offscreen, making her jump, then frown.

"Please excuse us," she said to Seven and the Doctor, her deliberate politeness edged with steel. "It seems that my employer and I have something important to discuss. Goodbye, Doctor. Lovely to meet you, Seven. HLA out."

The comm screen faded to black.

"Oh, dear," was the Doctor's comment. "And just when I thought he was starting to behave. Welcome to the three-ring circus, Seven."

She smoothed the lines from his face with loving, silver-tipped fingers, with a kiss or two for good measure. When they came apart, he was smiling.

"Fortunately for you," she said, "I enjoy a challenge."


End file.
